


fill my lungs with sweetness

by majesdane



Series: que estaba tan enamorada de ella como el primer día [4]
Category: Seis Hermanas (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Implied/Referenced Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-08-11 15:29:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7898032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majesdane/pseuds/majesdane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Celia, Aurora, and a modern day coffee shop AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	fill my lungs with sweetness

that night i met you i wrote: _it is possible i have imagined my entire life._  
\-- sarah manguso

the first section of darkness is the densest, dear -- after that, light trembles in --  
\-- emily dickinson, from a letter to susan gilbert dickinson

 

 

**FALL [2015]**

It's a bright, unusually hot morning in late September when they first meet in the group therapy room, in the rehabilitation wing of the hospital. Celia's the first one to arrive. She _hates_ being the first person to arrive anywhere -- it's as bad as being the last. She always prefers to slip in sometime in the middle. Especially at a time like now, when she wants more than anything to be unnoticed. 

There's a small part of her that wants to take this opportunity and leave right now, but the bigger, more sensible part of her reminds her how disappointed her sisters would be. She'd promised them that she would go through with this, like it or not. And they meant the best when they'd suggested it; Celia had looked at them, the worry plain on their faces, and she hadn't been able to refuse.

She's sitting next to one of the tall windows, basking in the afternoon sunlight, reading. She's so intent on finishing it, she doesn't look up when she hears the doors open down the room and someone walks in.

"Hello," that someone says, above her, and that's when Celia _does_ look up, just as a pretty girl -- a _woman_ , actually; Celia is still getting used to referring to herself and others like that -- around her age slides into a seat across from Celia. She's got her headphones in; Celia can hear the faint strains of music. Her dark hair's been pulled back into a loose ponytail and she's wearing a washed-out navy t-shirt with the words _Gran Teatro_ stamped across the chest in faded sky blue letters.

The girl tugs her headphone earbuds out. "I hope I'm not interrupting," she says, with a bright smile. "I'm Aurora."

;;

It's strange, how she can barely remember what happened. Her memories are blurry around the edges from that night; it feels like it was something she's dreamed. She _feels_ it more than remembers it: the sharp press of the blade against her skin, the warm, wet slide of blood. The sensation of the slowly cooling water, the smoothness of the porcelain edge of the tub.

She remembers waking up the next morning, eyes burning from the bright hospital lights. Her sisters springing out of their chairs, from the window, to come cluster around her bed. _Oh thank God_ , they'd murmured, throwing their arms around her. _We thought we'd lost you._

Later, Adela tells her, it was Diana who found her. It had been entirely by accident; Diana had gotten out of a board meeting earlier and had decided to see if Celia wanted lunch. She'd used her key to get in when Celia didn't answer the door.

"I wish Diana hadn't had to see me like that," Celia had mumbled. The bandages on her wrists itched, but she didn't dare scratch at them.

"But at least she found you in time," Adela told her gently. She stroked Celia's hair, brushing it back away from Celia's face.

Celia hadn't been able bring herself to meet Adela's gaze. She knew she'd see there what she saw in all her sisters' faces. Swollen, red-rimmed eyes. A million questions perched on her lips. Celia had licked her lips, swallowing hard. Her mouth felt like it'd been stuffed with cotton. The room suffocated her, slowly.

"Yeah," she agreed.. She took Adela's hand in her own, giving it a slight, reassuring squeeze. "You're right. At least there's that."

(She hadn't even been sure if she'd meant it, then.)

(Even now -- )

 

**SPRING / SUMMER [2015]**

If she had to put it all in order, Celia thinks it all started when her sisters asked her to help out on the afternoon shifts at the café.

"It's just for a little bit," Diana had told her. "Just a couple of weeks, at most, until we can find someone else."

Café Silva had been started by their parents, only a few years before Adela was born. Celia's father, a brilliant businessman, managed to turn the tiny shop into a lucrative success -- especially among tourists. Celia had worked sporadically at Café Silva ever since she was a little girl helping stack boxes in the storeroom. All of her sisters had, though as they'd grown older they'd all settled into certain roles. Diana was the most business minded of the six of them, so she'd assumed the role of la directora ejecutiva when their father had passed away. 

Blanca, who'd studied art in university, ended up helping up with the graphic design aspect, and later slipped into managing all of the café's social media as well. Elisa, who had never cared much for the café one way or another, spent most of her time at school -- the most prestigious one money could buy, of course, thanks to their father. And Francisca was too busy with her blossoming music career, though it didn't stop her from constantly pestering Diana to use the store as free promotion. 

It was only Celia who continued working semi-regular shifts at the café, all the way through to university. It wasn't much, only a few hours a week, and almost always on weekend afternoons, but she liked feeling useful. So of course, when Diana had asked her to sub in until they'd hired a new full-time person, Celia had agreed without a thought.

Her first evening, she spotted a woman by the back door to the shop. The woman was leaning against the wall by the door. Her head was tipped back, eyes closed, a smoldering cigarette between two slender fingers. She was a little bit shorter than Celia, with long, dark hair that shone in the early evening August sunlight.

She must have heard Celia approach, because she took one last drag of her cigarette, before dropping it to the ground and crushing it underneath her sandal. She ran a hand through her hair, before pushing off herself off the wall. "You must be Celia."

The girl glanced up, meeting Celia's gaze.

Celia found herself looking into the most startling hazel eyes she'd ever seen.

And that was how she met Petra.

;;

Petra was 19, a year younger than Celia. She'd started working at Café Silva several months ago. Only recently had she started working evenings; she'd always worked the midday work week shifts before, which explained why Celia had never met her until now.

It didn't happen right away. One week turned into two, then into three. After the café hired someone full-time, Celia kept on coming by in the evenings. Sometimes she worked, but most of the time she holed herself up in a little corner of the café, books sprawled out on the table. She told herself it was because she was more comfortable studying there than her empty apartment, but the truth was that she never got much done when she was there.

Especially not during slow times, Petra would slide into the seat across from Celia and keep her company. Petra was a beautiful distraction from her long hours of classwork and studying. Celia found herself constantly looking forward to when she'd be able to spend time with Petra; after a while, they even started hanging out together outside of the shop. It wasn't often -- just a few times here and there. Celia and Petra were kept busy with school and work, respectively, and Petra's boyfriend, Miguel, dominated Petra's free time. But Celia cherished the times when it was just the two of them together.

(She fell hard for Petra. And how could she not? Petra was beautiful and charismatic and everything that shy, introverted Celia wasn't. Celia had had crushes on other girls -- classmates, usually -- but this was different. She was entranced.)

"Someone has a crush," Francisca teased one day, after Petra had hurried off to deal with a customer. They were sitting at one of the little tables by the big shop window, two cups of tea set off to the side, temporarily forgotten.

"What?" Celia flushed. "I don't."

"Mmm." Francisca shot Celia a knowing look. "You do. It's _so_ obvious. I saw the way you were looking at her." 

Before everything else that happened, Francisca was the only one who Celia had told she was gay. Celia had known she liked girls since practically forever, but she'd been reluctant to come out. She would have never dared to have come out to her father when he was still alive.

(Though, when she daydreamed about her mother -- who had died just after Elisa was born, when Celia was still a little girl -- she imagined that her mother would have accepted her, no questions asked.)

Francisca didn't even bat an eyelid when Celia came out to her. "I always kind of suspected, honestly," she'd confessed, later. But Celia was afraid that her other sisters wouldn't take it quite so well, despite Francisca's insistence that they would. The truth was, she'd always craved her the approval of Adela and Blanca, her two oldest sisters; the thought of them reacting badly to her coming out made Celia sick to her stomach.

"You do know that Petra's straight," Francisca reminded Celia, later that afternoon, when they were back at Celia's apartment. "And she has a boyfriend; they're practically married."

Celia sighed, flopping down on her bed. "I know. But . . ."

"But you're hoping she might feel the same."

The truth was, Celia had imagined endless scenarios in which she came out to Petra and confessed her feelings. Most of the time, these fantasies concluded with Petra returning her affections. She imagined Petra tugging Celia in by her apron, standing on tiptoe to press their mouths together. She saw the two of them together in the shop, laughing, holding hands inconspicuously behind the counter. Or sitting on opposite sides of a booth, the toe of Petra's shoe brushing up and down the length of Celia's calf. Or sneaking kisses in the back, among the rows and rows of supplies.

"She could," Celia suggested, feeling her heart flutter anxiously. "I mean, maybe . . . It's possible."

Francisca sat down next to her. She patted Celia's hand. "Be careful," she warned. "If she reacts badly -- "

"She wouldn't."

" _If_ she does, though," Francisca continued, "I'm scared that you might get really hurt by it. You like her a lot, I know. But please don't let yourself get carried away by it."

Celia had sighed again and promised that she wouldn't.

But as much as she tried to temper her affections for Petra, they only seemed to grow stronger the more she and Petra spent time together. It didn't help that lately Petra and Miguel had been fighting a lot over small, stupid things; it sparked a tiny hope in Celia. She listened patiently whenever Petra wanted to vent her frustrations with Miguel, telling herself that it meant something that Petra sought her out for support over anyone else. 

(It had to mean something, didn't it? Over everyone else, over her family and friends, Petra chose her.)

When one day Petra announced that she and Miguel had broken up, Celia had been lightheaded with giddiness. _It's not because of you_ , she told herself. _It's dangerous to think like that._ But that little spark of hope that had ignited in her turned into a white hot flame.

And so, one day, buoyed up with confidence, she'd kissed Petra.

They were in the back storeroom, after Petra's shift. Celia had dropped by to help Petra close up for the evening and she'd ended up helping Petra restock the supply shelves.

"Thanks again," Petra said.

"For what?"

"Pretty much everything." Petra laughed. "What haven't you helped me with? Putting in extra time at the café, listening to me constantly complain about Miguel. I can't imagine _that_ must have been very fun for you."

Celia shook her head. "It's no big deal," she said. "We're friends."

"Well . . ." Petra moved forward, putting a hand on Celia's arm. Celia's heart skipped a beat. She could smell Petra's citrusy perfume. She gazed down at Petra, who was looking at her with a soft expression on her face. "Thanks again," Petra said, in a quiet, serious voice. "Really. I mean it."

Suddenly, Celia couldn't help herself. All the feelings that had been bubbling inside of her for so long rushed to the surface. She stepped forward, took Petra's face in her hands, and kissed her.

But Petra didn't kiss her back. 

Instead, she pulled away sharply, staring at Celia with a half-confused, half-angry look on her face.

Celia should have known, then, how bad things were going to get.

 

**FALL [2015]**

It's weird, talking to complete strangers about what happened to her. What she did.

At first, Celia has to be prompted to open up. She hates it, at first. She hates the way talking about what happened makes her feel. Guilt, shame, regret, embarrassment; they churn in her stomach, making her sick. The first few times are so hard. She has to force herself not to cry in front of everyone; that's something she can't bring herself to do.

She talks about how she'd fallen in love with Petra. How she'd kissed her one evening, on an impulse. How Petra had rejected her, had shunned her. Petra had told Miguel about the kiss, and things had only gotten worse from there on out.

Petra didn't show up the next day to work. Or the day after that. But then a few days after the kiss, Miguel barged into the shop and cornered Celia in the back room. Furious, he told her she had better stay away from Petra. Petra didn't want to come into work because of Celia, he said. She wanted to quit. Miguel said he was going to make sure that _everyone_ knew what happened.

And he did. He made a slew of increasingly volatile posts about it all over social media. All of which were tailored, of course, to make Celia look as awful as possible. It wasn't long before his and Petra's other friends joined in; that only made things worse.

But before all that, Miguel told Celia's sisters about what happened.

 _That_ was terrible, being outed to her sisters like that. Even though Francisca had already known, it had still been rough. _I did you warn you_ , she said to Celia, over the phone that evening, and even if Francisca hadn't meant for it to sting, it had. Badly. 

But in the end, what hurt Celia the most was was the fact that Petra didn't do anything to quell Miguel's actions. It was that that cut Celia to the very bone. She'd thought they were friends. Yes, she'd made a mistake. But she had thought Petra would understand. She didn't think that things would ever go this far. 

After a while, it'd had just gotten to all be too much. And finally, one day, she'd taken a straight razor to her wrists.

She hadn't been able to look anyone in the face, when she said that part out loud. She had to force the words out. 

It's hard, at first, to open up. She feels stupid now, looking back on everything that happened. She can't help it. 

But slowly, it gets better. The shame and embarrassment eases. The more sessions she goes to, the more she realizes that it's a million times easier to talk to strangers than it is her own sisters, who skirt around the topic like Celia is a bomb ready to go off at any second. 

And there's Aurora -- that was something she hadn't expected.

They barely conversed at all, for the first week -- nothing outside of the small talk they'd made before Celia's group therapy session -- but one day, after Celia had finally worked up the courage to talk about everything that had happened, something changed.

Aurora had come up to her just as everyone was leaving. Celia quickly wiped away a few tears when she heard Aurora say her name. She ran a shaky hand through her hair, trying to look like everything was fine.

"Hey." Aurora reached out to touch Celia's arm, looking concerned. "You okay?"

Celia nodded. "I'm fine," she said softly.

Aurora didn't look entirely convinced. She paused, as if considering something. But then: "If you ever want to talk . . . I mean, I know we don't really know each other, like, at all. But some of the stuff you mentioned -- I've been there before." She took a step closer to Celia, her hand lingering on Celia's arm. "I just wanted to let you know that you're not alone, okay? If you need anyone to talk to, you can always come talk to me. Confía en mí."

Afterwards, Celia wasn't entirely sure why she did it, but she invited Aurora out for coffee. Not at her family's café, but at a little place right around the corner from the hospital. They'd sat outside on the street, talking for what seemed like ages. Aurora told Celia all about herself: she was twenty-five and studying to become a doctor. She'd moved to Madrid from Cáceres for university. She'd spent a summer in Austria, becoming fluent in German. And she hadn't spoken to her family in years.

"Why not?" Celia asked.

Aurora sighed, looking down at her hands. "They didn't take it too well when they found out I liked girls," she told Celia. 

Celia blinked. "Oh." Aurora had said that she'd understood what Celia had gone through, but Celia hadn't been expecting _that_.

"My parents are very conservative," Aurora told her. She still didn't meet Celia's eyes. "When I was a teenager, they found out I was gay. My brother saw me kissing girl and told my parents. The girl never talked to me again. It's too bad, because she was really cute," Aurora looked up, flashing Celia a wry smile. "My parents were furious. They sent me to a therapist who they said could ‘cure' me. It was horrible."

"I'm sorry," Celia says quietly. 

"You know," Aurora says slowly, after a moment. "I almost _wanted_ to be cured, after a while. And for a while, I really tried; I tried to convince myself that I wasn't gay, that I liked boys. Because that was the only way my parents would love me again. It's funny, isn't it? A parent's love should be unconditional. And it is -- until they realize you're not the person they wanted you to be. And then it isn't."

Celia put her hand on Aurora's. "I'm sorry," she said again. "I . . . I can't even imagine."

(She thought of her own father, all of the things she'd been afraid he would say if he'd known who she really was.)

They sat there for a minute in silence.

"But," Aurora said, "I just couldn't stand it. The pretending. I couldn't be anyone else other than who I was. So my parents disowned me. But, you know what? It was probably the best thing that could have happened to me." She grinned. "Because, now? I'm free."

Ever since that afternoon, they'd been friends. Tentatively, at first, because Celia still wasn't sure about the idea of being friends with someone who already knew the worst parts of her life. But then she'd remembered how Aurora had opened up to her, and rapidly, her apprehension melted away.

All of Celia's friends when she was growing up had been heterosexual; she'd known about other classmates who were gay, of course, but she'd never had the courage to ever talk to anyone but Francisca about how she felt.

In school, everyone had known who her family was. If word had gotten around that she was gay, her father would have eventually found out. And now here was Aurora. It was a relief to finally be able to talk openly about her sexuality with someone else -- because as well-intentioned as Francisca had been, it wasn't the same. It couldn't be. Francisca just didn't understand. 

Not like Aurora. Aurora was different. Aurora was like Celia.

It wasn't just the fact that Aurora was gay, though of course, that had played a large role originally. The more time they spent together, they more they realized they had in common. They'd read the same books, they liked the same movies. Like Celia, Aurora was a staunch feminist. (One time, they'd talked well into the night about politics; it was the first time for Celia that such a conversation hadn't ended in a shouting match.)

"You know," Celia says one day. "I've just realized something."

They're in a park near the hospital -- Celia on her bike, Aurora on foot -- on a cool Friday afternoon. Celia's got a mountain of homework waiting for her this weekend and she's dreading having to go back to her an apartment and start working on it. And right now, she's enjoying Aurora's company too much to want to be anywhere else.

"What's that?" Aurora aims a half-hearted kick a small rock on the path; it skitters off into the grass.

"We've never had coffee at my family's shop."

Aurora pauses in her tracks. "Wait," she says slowly. "Silva. _Café_ Silva?"

Celia grins. "Is that a yes?"

"Only if the coffee is free."

"For you, I'll make an exception." Celia winks at her. "But just this once."

;;

"Who's this?" Blanca asks, when Celia spots her and Adela in the back room, hunched over a spread of papers. They're looking over the designs for the fall marketing promotions. They look up when Celia and Aurora walk in.

"Aurora. We're in group together. Aurora, these are my two oldest sisters." She introduces them, nodding at each sister in turn. 

"Ah." Blanca nods. "So this is the person you've been spending all of your afternoons with." She straightens, shaking Aurora's hand. "It's so nice to meet you. Celia's told us a lot about you."

"¿De verdad?" Aurora says, sounding impressed. She glances over at Celia, smiling. "Only good things, I hope."

"Only ever good things," Adela tells her, with a smile.

;;

("She's nice," Blanca says to Celia later, after Aurora's excused herself to go home. "I like her."

Celia grins. "I knew you would. She's great."

"She's very pretty, too," Adela observes gently. 

Celia feels her face grow hot. "We're just friends." It comes out a bit more defensively than she intends it to.

She doesn't miss the look that passes between her sisters.)

;;

A few weeks later, they're sitting in the library.

Celia's studying, while Aurora's pretending to working on her anatomy class homework ("I'm really just here to keep you company," she'd told Celia, when she'd tagged along after group). There's only a few more weeks left of the fall courses, and Celia's already nervous about the upcoming final exams.She mentions this to Aurora, who shakes her head, taking off her reading glasses.

"You weren't in the hospital for that long, Celia," she says. "I'm sure you didn't miss that much."

Celia feels her blood turn to ice in her veins. Aurora knows, of course, what happened -- or at least the vague details. But that was in therapy; this is the first time Celia's ever heard someone talk about it outside of that. It throws her. She feels wholly exposed.

She swallows hard, trying to clear the lump in her throat. She shrugs. "Yeah. Sure. You're probably right." Celia tries to sound nonchalant, but her grip on the pen is knuckle white. Her heart thuds in her chest. 

Aurora must sense her discomfort, because her face changes immediately. She clears her throat. "Sorry," she says, quietly.

Celia shrugs again, shifting in her seat. "It's not like we can pretend it never happened," she says, though secretly she wants to and wishes desperately that she _could_. She doodles stars in the margins of her notes, the lines dark and jagged.

"I imagine you're probably talked about it a lot, anyway."

"I haven't really talked about it," Celia admits, not looking up. "Like, at all. With anyone."

"Not even with your sisters?" Aurora asks lightly.

Celia frowns, focusing on coloring in the stars she's drawn. She lets a long pause settle between them.

" _Especially_ not with my sisters," she says at last, reaching for her latte. It burns her tongue. "Can we just move on?" she snaps, feeling irritated all of a sudden. She hates the look Aurora is giving her right now. Celia doesn't want her sympathy. "I really need to study for this exam."

"Yeah, sure. Of course." Aurora ducks her head, looking down at her own work. "Sorry. I was just wondering."

"Well, don't. I wouldn't even -- " Celia falters, uncertain. _I wouldn't even know what to say_ lingers on her tongue. She takes another sip of her latte. "I just really don't want to think about it right now," she says, in a softer voice. "I'd really rather just focus on the present right now."

Aurora shrugs noncommittally. "It's fine. Like you said, let's just move on."

"It's just -- sorry for snapping." She doesn't even know why she's apologizing. 

"Celia, I don't _care_ ," Aurora says, meeting Celia's gaze with a hard look. "If you don't want to talk about it, then we won't talk about it. Okay? Here," she says, taking one of Celia's textbooks in her hands and pointing to a sky-blue box on the bottom of one page. "I'll help you. Why don't we just go through the list of short-answer questions?"

It's so different to be around someone who has zero expectations of you, Celia thinks. She loves her sisters, but sometimes it seems as though they're always putting her up on a pedestal. Adela may have been the oldest, but it's always Celia who all her sisters go to talk to, to ask for advice. She's the one who her sisters look to for the right answers, the best solutions to a problem. 

Which is why they've never discussed the incident. Ever. Right after it had happened, Celia had been afraid to bring it up, afraid that maybe her sisters would want to know how to deal with it -- as if that was something Celia knew anything about. So she'd kept quiet about it then, and she kept quiet about it now, and her sisters had followed suit, carefully side-stepping any mention of it.

They've been walking on eggshells for weeks and weeks now.

But Aurora's different. She doesn't seem to care if Celia doesn't have the answers as to how she felt then. How she feels _now_. Maybe it's because she's always had to shoulder the same responsibilities, the same pressures. She's had to live up to the same expectations. Hiding. Pretending to be the perfect sister. Pushing down her own feelings until she couldn't feel anything at all. 

And she'd brought up Celia's suicide attempt -- not directly, of course, but she'd _acknowledged_ it, which is still something Celia's not used to hearing. 

It startles her, how strangely happy that that makes her feel.

And, suddenly, she feels like maybe, if there is _anyone_ she can talk to about what happened, it's Aurora. She can't believe that after nearly a whole month of them being in group together, slowly becoming friends, that she's only just realizing this now. And then she thinks it's because she was worried that Aurora would be like her sisters. She was worried that it would push Aurora away.

But Aurora's known about it this whole time. 

"Listen," she says, interrupting Aurora, who's reading a question out loud. "I just -- can we just talk?" 

;;

They end up at Aurora's apartment.

It looks nothing like Celia imagined. There are little piles of clothes scattered everywhere. Scattered stacks of books adorn every available surface. The walls are decorated in bright watercolor paintings. Aurora's veranda looks out to a small park; with the sliding glass door of the veranda thrown open, the crisp smell of early autumn fills the room.

It's smaller than Celia's own neatly organized high rise apartment, which sits square in the middle of downtown Madrid. It feels . . . peaceful. While Aurora's in the kitchen getting them both a cup of tea, Celia slumps down on one end of Aurora's couch. It's flanked on either side by two small, oak bookcases.

A few minutes later, Aurora pads in from the kitchen. She places two mugs on the low coffee table in front of them, before sinking down on the couch as well.

"I don't even know what to say," Celia finally says, at last. She absent-mindedly runs her fingers along the spines of the books. Anything to distract herself. "To my sisters, I mean. Like, what do you even _say_ when something like this happens? Oh, sorry I tried to kill myself? I mean, who _says_ that, right?"

She feels the prick of tears in her eyes. She's babbling, she knows, but it feels good for once to just be able to say what she'd been thinking ever since it happened. Since she'd tried to kill herself. Suddenly all the emotions she'd felt then come bubbling up inside her now. She wipes at her eyes, looking anywhere but at Aurora, embarrassed.

Aurora sighs, running a hand through hair. "I really don't know what's the right thing to say," she told Celia. "I don't even think there _is_ a right thing to say."

Celia wipes at her eyes. "It really just . . . it just sucks."

"Yeah." Aurora offers her a small smile. "It does." She pauses, and then adds gently, "But you really should talk to them about what happened, Celia. You'll never get past it if you don't. You'll never be able to really move forward."

It's Celia's turn to sigh now. She picks nervously at a tear in her jeans. "I know," she admits. Hopes Aurora doesn't hear the tremble in her voice.

The springs in the couch give a tiny squeak of protest as Aurora slides over, her arm going around Celia's shoulders. Celia is suddenly exhausted. She leans into Aurora, resting her head against Aurora's shoulder. Aurora smells like lilacs. Her fingers trace little, calming circles on Celia's arm.

Celia closes her eyes, lets herself drift off.

They stay like that, for a while.

;;

"So you're a writer?" Aurora asks.

Celia nods. "Well, not full time, obviously," she says. "It's all freelance work. But I'm good at short stories. At least I used to be, anyway. I haven't really written anything since . . ." She trails off.

Aurora makes a small sound of sympathy. "I'm sure you'll be inspired again," she says, with a hopeful expression. "You just need some time. It's understandable."

"Well, I hope it's soon," Celia sighs. She reaches for Aurora's empty cup. "Do you want another drink?" she asks, getting up from the table. "I mean, I should at least pretend to actually be doing work."

Aurora laughs. "Yes, please."

At first, Aurora only used to come to Café Silva only every once in a while (which was usually only when Celia invited her). But lately she's begun to frequent it more and more. Now, Celia isn't surprised if she walks in and finds Aurora sitting at a table by herself, nose buried in a textbook. She'd told Celia that she liked doing her schoolwork at the café.

 _It's much nicer than just sitting in the university library all day_ , she'd said. 

But really, when Celia's there, Aurora doesn't seem to study much. She's always ordering a drink and then, when Celia brings it over, roping her into a conversation. Celia's taken to drawing cute little pictures in the foam when Aurora orders lattes, much to Aurora's seemingly endless delight.

"You've been in a good mood lately," Francisca remarks one day, when she and Celia are counting inventory. It's one of the rare occasions when Francisca's decided to actually stop in and help out at the café.

Usually Celia hates doing this kind of work. It's too tedious for her. But she's been bored all afternoon; Aurora's busy with her study group until this evening, when she's made plans to meet up with Celia to go see a play. Celia's shift is only a few hours long, but it's felt like forever. It hasn't helped that the café's been abnormally slow this afternoon.

Celia makes a note on her clipboard that they're running low on chai tea. "Have I been?" she asks distractedly.

Francisca smirks. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed. Every time I've talked to you this week you've been unusually chipper." She nudges Celia, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "What's up? Is it a girl?"

"It's honestly nothing," Celia tells her, and quickly changes the conversation over to the subject of Francisca's new boyfriend, Gabriel. It's a topic they've discussed ad nauseam at this point, but at least Celia doesn't have to deal with Francisca pestering her further.

;;

It starts to rain on her way to work. Celia sprints the last mile, sneakers splashing through the newly forming puddles on the sidewalk. She's darting through the door when she bumps into Aurora, who stumbles back with a surprised laugh.

"They told me you weren't going to come in today," she says, shifting her umbrella from one hand to the other, her car keys jingling softly. "But here you are."

"I wasn't planning on it," Celia explains. She steps aside out of the doorway, so a customer can get by. When the door opens, she can hear a distant rumble of thunder. She nods at the umbrella in Aurora's hand. "Are you still planning on leaving, or . . . ?"

Aurora shakes her head. "I came here to see you," she says. "We haven't seen each other all week. And considering how much you were stressing about your exams, I wanted to see how you did."

Celia grins. "Great, actually. Better than expected. But first," she says, shrugging off her coat and heading towards the counter, "I need some coffee. Do you want anything? The usual?" 

"I would love that, actually," Aurora says, and her smile makes Celia feel warm all over.

;;

Not long after that, Aurora brings someone new to Café Silva.

"Celia, this is Marina Montero," Aurora says cheerfully, as Celia follows them over to an empty corner booth. She watches as Aurora unpacks a few unwieldy looking textbooks from her bag. "We go to school together."

"Nice to meet you," Marina says, extending her hand.

Celia reluctantly shakes Marina's hand, feeling a twinge of jealousy. With her honey colored eyes and auburn hair, Celia can't help but note how pretty Marina is. She's never heard Aurora mention Marina before.

As Celia stands behind the counter, fixing their drinks, she sees how close Aurora and Marina seem. They've spread their schoolwork out on the table in front of them, but they haven't looked at it once since they'd sat down. At one point, Aurora leans in close to say something to Marina; Marina laughs, batting playfully at Aurora's arm.

Celia feels another little pang of jealousy.

She doesn't know why she cares so much. Aurora is allowed to spend time with people who aren't her, of course. After all, Celia has her sisters, and her other friends from teaching school. It's not like she and Aurora are attached at the hip. And yet, there's still a sinking feeling in her stomach when she sees the easy way Aurora and Marina interact. 

(She feels like she's intruding, when she brings them over their coffee a few minutes later.)

Marina's with Aurora when Aurora comes to the café the next day. And the day after that. And practically every day that follows. Once, while Celia's biking to the hospital for group therapy, she even spots Marina dropping Aurora off at the main entrance.

Celia tells herself that she's over-analyzing things. After all, nothing seems to have changed between her and Aurora; Aurora still treats her exactly the same as she always has. They still spend time together, alone, outside of group sessions. And Aurora still constantly texts Celia random things in the middle of the day, just like before.

And while it's true that she's _fairly_ certain if Aurora was dating Marina, she would have told Celia by now, Celia still can't help but feel like there's something going on between Aurora and Marina. And the more she watches them together, the more true it seems. 

But the problem is, she still doesn't know for sure. And, really, the uncertainty of it all is bordering on annoying now. So, one day, when Marina leaves the café early, Celia makes her way over to Aurora's table.

Aurora doesn't notice her at first; her headphones are in and she's absorbed in her schoolwork. She's worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, brow furled in concentration. Her pen hovers, poised, over her notebook.

Celia clears her throat. Aurora looks up, tugging out her earbuds with a smile.

"Hey."

"Hey." Celia holds up a latte. It had been her excuse to come over. She's drawn a little heart in the foam. "Thought you might want something to help you study."

"Gracias," Aurora says, moving one of her books out of the way so Celia can set the cup down. "That's just what I needed, actually. All of this reading is putting me to sleep." She nods at the empty seat across from her. "You want to sit?"

Celia shakes her head. "Sorry, I can't. Today's one of the few days where I'm actually supposed to be working."

"Too bad. I could use the company."

"Yeah, I saw your girlfriend left," Celia blurts out, much to her utter chagrin. She instantly feels her cheeks flush hot with embarrassment. 

Aurora blinks at her, wide-eyed. "¿Mi novia? ¿Marina?"

"Well . . ." Celia trails off awkwardly. "I mean, that's what she is, isn't she?'

Aurora bursts into laughter. "No!" she exclaims. "No, no, Marina is totally straight. And she's been dating a guy at our school for practically forever. We're just friends."

"Oh." Celia feels herself flush hot with embarrassment. "W-well, I mean, all of a sudden you were always together," she says, in a rush. "And I thought -- you know, that maybe you were dating."

Aurora's still chuckling. "Celia," she says, "Marina and I have all the same classes together this semester. We're always together because we've been helping each other study. That's all."

Celia nods, her embarrassment swelling. She wishes the ground could swallow her up whole right now. Of course Aurora and Marina weren't dating; she'd been stupid to jump to conclusions over nothing. And even more stupid to act so --

"¿Por qué? ¿Estás celosa?" Aurora teases, nudging Celia's leg with her foot, grinning from ear to ear.

For a second, Celia almost confesses how she feels, the words lingering on the tip of her tongue. But then she remembers what happened with Petra. It's not like she thinks Aurora would react like Petra did, but Aurora's the first _real_ friend Celia's had in a while now, and she's scared of jeopardizing that. And she doesn't think she'd be able to handle it if Aurora rejected her.

So instead, she rolls her eyes and forces herself to be as nonchalant as possible. "Yeah, sure," she says, crossing her arms to hide the way her hands are shaking. Her heart is racing. "You wish." 

;;

But, lying in bed that evening, she can still feel the faint strains of embarrassment, and she feels compelled to text Aurora. _Sorry about this afternoon._

The response is immediate: 

_Don't worry about it._ Then, a moment later, _Also . . . even if Marina liked girls, I wouldn't be interested in her. She's not my type._

Celia doesn't know how to respond to that. She tries to compose a messages, hesitates, then deletes it. Five tries later, she says simply, _Cool. :)_

Aurora texts her back a smile and a goodnight.

Celia sets her phone back down on her nightstand. Tries to sleep.

She can't. 

 

**WINTER [2015 / 2016]**

"You've been unusually quiet all morning," Francisca says, over breakfast. "What's up?"

Celia pokes half-heartedly at her eggs. Francisca had invited her and Diana out for brunch this morning, claiming that it had been far too long since they'd spent time together. After some prodding, Celia had been convinced to come along. Truthfully, she hadn't really felt up to seeing her sisters. She'd been in a weird mood ever since her last late night conversation with Aurora a few days ago. She and Aurora hadn't talked since then and it put Celia on edge; she was worried that maybe she'd made things awkward between the two of them.

"Nothing's wrong," Celia says. "I'm just tired, that's all."

"Are you sure that's all it is?" Diana asks.

Celia doesn't have to look up to know what kind of looks her sisters must have on their faces right now; she hears it in Diana's tone. They're worried that she might be slipping back into a bad place. It might feel to Celia like her suicide attempt was a lifetime ago, but she knows the memories are still fresh in her sisters' minds. And Diana had been the one to find her . . .

"Alright, I'll tell you." Celia sighs, setting down her fork. "I think -- well, there's someone that I, you know . . . that I like."

Diana raises an eyebrow. "Oh?" There's a pause as she and Francisca exchange a knowing look. "I don't suppose that they happen to be someone we've already met, maybe?"

Celia blushes. "You have," she says. 

Francisca's face breaks out into a grin. "Aurora?" she asks giddily. Off Celia's nod, she says, "I knew it. I knew you had a crush on her! You haven't been able to stop talking about her since you two met. And you spend all your time together -- "

"Not _all_ our time," Celia interjects. 

"Most of your time then," Francisca concedes, laughing. 

"So is that why you've been moping all morning? A crush?" Diana rests her elbow on the table, propping her chin up on her knuckles. It feels weird to hear her talking so nonchalantly about Celia having a crush on a girl, when not too long ago she didn't even know Celia was gay. "I would have thought that would be _good_ news for you, Celia."

Celia sighs again, knitting her fingers in her lap. "But I'm afraid she doesn't like me as anything more than a friend. And after what happened with Petra . . ."

Francisca nods thoughtfully. "I can understand that."

"But Aurora isn't straight, though," Diana adds. "And she doesn't have a girlfriend, right?"

"But that doesn't mean anything," Celia protests.

"Maybe." Diana shrugs. "But you _have_ been getting really close over these past few months. So I don't think it's so out of the realm of possibility that she likes you back. Maybe she's just afraid of saying anything because you're just getting out of a bad situation." 

"Maybe." Celia isn't quite convinced. Aurora doesn't seem like the type of person to be afraid of anything. She's never held back before when she's talked about anything else in her life. Celia doesn't think this case would be any different.

Francisca says, "You should talk to Aurora about how you feel." She reaches over and puts her arm across Celia's shoulders. "Right?"

Celia nods. "Right," she says

But already knows that she won't. She _can't_. She's too afraid.

(It's much safer if she just keeps going on as she has.)

;;

They ride together to Café Silva -- 

("I know the shop isn't open this early," Celia had said, on the phone, "But I couldn't sleep and thought maybe you wanted to get a coffee with me? I'll make one special for you. If you don't mind driving, that is.")

\-- in the lazy early hours of Sunday morning. The clouds hang low and dull and gray in the sky, threatening to add another layer of snow to the ground.

A little while later, Celia stands outside on the sidewalk. She watches the steam rise from the top of her coffee, the paper cup warming her hands. 

"It'll be Christmas soon," Aurora says, stepping out of the shop. Celia turns to lock the door behind them. They linger under the front canopy, as a few tentative snowflakes drift down. The chill morning air burns Celia's nose. She shivers and takes a tiny sip of coffee, careful not to burn her tongue.

Aurora yawns, still looking half-asleep. She blows gently on her coffee -- nearly black, two sugars; it's the only kind of coffee Aurora will drink in the morning. Celia knows it by heart now -- and smiles. "You know, even at twenty-five, I can't deny there's a certain excitement about being let out of school for the holidays."

Celia smiles tightly, thinks of her own home, her sisters. This will be the third Christmas without their parents. Before, she hadn't ever imagined a time without them; she isn't sure that she'll ever get used to their absence. But she can't say that, not to Aurora, so she nods instead and says, "Yes, it'll be nice to have a little break from studying."

Settling back into Aurora's car, setting their cups down between them, their hands meet. Aurora's hand rests just a little too long on top of Celia's. For a second, she looks as though she might say something -- and in that second, Celia wishes she would. She'd say the words herself, if she knew how.

But then Aurora pulls away with a murmured apology and the moment is lost in the sound of the car starting, the engine turning over and springing to life.

;;

Christmas Eve, Aurora stops by the café just as Celia's closing it up early for the evening, to present Celia with a present. It's a small, slight thing, with crimson wrapping and a tiny silver bow. There's a little card attached, with Celia's name in bright, bold script. "Merry Christmas," she says.

"But I didn't get you anything," Celia says awkwardly, taking it and feeling its weight in her hand.

"It's okay." Aurora shrugs, nonplussed. "I don't mind. It's just something small. Besides, I like giving people presents. You don't have to open it now, of course," she adds, after a moment. 

Celia doesn't know what to say. Instead, she reaches for Aurora, pulling her into an embrace. Aurora smells like peppermint. Her arms are tight around Celia's waist. Celia wants to hold on to Aurora for forever -- but then the moment passes and Aurora untangles herself, laughing. 

"I should probably get going," she says, reaching for her keys in her coat pocket. "I'll see you soon. Tell your sisters I said Merry Christmas." 

As Aurora turns to leave, it occurs to Celia just then that, unlike her, Aurora doesn't have a family to spend Christmas with. She's struck with the image of Aurora sitting in her apartment, all alone. She moves forward and catches Aurora's arm. "Wait," she says. "I don't know if -- I thought maybe, if you didn't have anything planned, maybe you'd want to spend Christmas with me?" She blushes then, says hurriedly: "With me and my sisters, I mean."

Aurora grins. "That sounds lovely. Of course. Yes, absolutely. I'd love to come."

And then she reaches for Celia's hand; their fingers intertwine. It's absolutely freezing out right now, but suddenly Celia feels blazing hot. Aurora gives Celia's hand a gentle squeeze. "Ready to go?" she says, and leads the way over to her car.

;;

She unwraps Aurora's present later that evening. Since it's Christmas, she's staying at their parents' old house -- it's Adela's now, but it still doesn't feel like it -- in her old bedroom. She perches on the edge of the bed, carefully undoing the ribbon, the neat wrapping.

It's a journal. Celia runs her fingers over the cover: it's made of dark leather, with an intricate pattern embroidered in pale yellow thread. There's a thin red and yellow ribbon tied around the journal to keep it closed.

Opening it, Celia thumbs through the unlined, off-white pages. Inside the front cover, Aurora has inscribed a little message: _Para Celia. Navidad 2015._

It's beautiful.

And then she remembers the card that came with the present. The envelope isn't sealed. Inside is a small white card with the outline of a bell in green and gold lines. Inside the card, in Aurora's pretty script, it says, _Los libros son espejos: sólo se ve en ellos lo que uno ya lleva dentro._

Celia recognizes the quote instantly; she presses the card to her chest, her heart fluttering.

A soft knock on her door startles her out of her reverie.

"It's me," Aurora says, poking her head in. "I just wanted to say goodnight."

When Aurora had dropped Celia off at the house, Celia's sisters had insisted that she stay over. Aurora had been reluctant at first, saying that she was already imposing enough. But Blanca had talked her out of her hesitation; after all, she was Celia's best friend, and with the weather getting worse by the minute, it just made sense to spend Christmas Eve with them as well. 

Right now, she's dressed in one of Celia's old, over-sized band t-shirts and faded sweatpants that Celia hasn't worn in ages. She's taken her hair down and it frames her pale face in dark, lazy waves. It's almost annoying, Celia thinks, that Aurora can look so beautiful, even like this. 

"Hola," Celia says, putting the little card back in its envelope. She gestured towards the room. "You can come in, if you want. I'm just getting ready for bed."

"Me too." Aurora leans against the doorway. "I just wanted to come say goodnight."

"Night." And then, almost shyly, "I opened your present, by the way. It's lovely. More than lovely, actually."

Aurora's face lights up. "Oh? Bueno. I'm glad."

"You really shouldn't have."

"I wanted to."

"Well, thanks again," Celia says. She stands, setting the journal and little card down on top of her overnight bag, next to her dresser. "I think that I'm going to use it to draft my next stories in."

"That makes me happy." Aurora flashes her a warm smile. "I know you haven't written anything since . . ." -- she pauses -- ". . . for a while."

 _It's because of you_ , Celia wants to say. But instead she stretches, yawning, and says, "Well, I think I'm going to try and get some sleep. It's been a long day, and tomorrow will be even longer.With all of these sisters and boyfriends and everyone here, it's quite an affair. You're going to regret spending Christmas with the Silva family."

Aurora laughs."I'll keep that in mind." She pushes herself off the doorframe. "Well, see you tomorrow then."

"Goodnight," Celia says again, and listens to the sound of Aurora padding down the hall to the guest bedroom.

When she crawls into bed, after brushing her teeth, she can't help but think about what would happen if she went down the hall to where Aurora was. If, when she got there, Aurora would laugh and pull Celia into bed with her, her arms going around Celia's waist. They'd fall asleep like that, Celia imagines. She can almost smell Aurora's perfume, can nearly feel the warmth of her Aurora's body pressed against her back. And for a moment, she almost gets out of bed to go to Aurora. Just to see what would happen.

Almost.

;;

"So _here's_ where you snuck off to," Aurora says.

Celia steps back from the window to watch Aurora, who's sliding the study's big cedar wood and glass door closed. They latch with a soft _click_. "Sorry," she says, resting her hands on the windowsill and leaning back on them. "I just needed a break."

Aurora nods. "It's quiet in here," she observes, looking around. "And beautiful."

Celia's always liked the look of her father's old study in the glow of pale moonlight. Right now it's even brighter than usual, though, the light outside reflecting off the snow and flooding the room. The towering bookcases that line the walls contain years worth of her father's interests: law, business, politics. A bit of history, here and there. Some biographies. A plush, luxurious rug covers most of the hardwood flooring. But the main focus of the room is her father's old desk, with all the delicate carpentry and a heavy captain's chair with gold leaf painting.

As a little girl, she'd always loved coming in here during evening parties. She liked the silence. And the room itself had always seemed so lush and romantic. Before Aurora had arrived, Celia had been imagining herself as a little girl, all of the times she'd come in here. 

Now, Celia watches Aurora run her fingers lightly over the desk's bare surface. When she looks up, her expression is one Celia can't quite read. It's wistful, almost. Sad. And then, Aurora says, "My father had a desk like this. It belonged to my grandfather, originally. I haven't thought about it years. Not until just now."

"It was my father's too," Celia tells her. She moves towards Aurora. "When I was younger, I used to come in here all the time. Usually to get away from parties." She laughs. "When I was really little, I'd crawl under the desk and sit there for hours, just reading."

Aurora grins. "I can see you like that," she says. "You were reading that day, too. When we first met. All curled up in giant chair."

"I didn't want to be there at all," Celia confesses. She doesn't know why she says it. She can't help herself. "But . . . actually, I'm really glad now that I went. Because without it, I would have never have met you."

Aurora looks over at her. Their eyes meet. A long, long pause follows. Then, just as Celia's getting ready to say something -- say _anything_ , just to break the silence -- Aurora reaches for Celia's hand. Wordlessly, she threads their fingers together. The distant sounds of the Christmas party in the other room fade even more.

Suddenly, Celia's aware of just how close they are. Aurora's thumb strokes across the back of Celia's hand. Aurora's perfume is different than usual tonight; she smells like cinnamon. And pine. This close up, Celia can see a sprinkling of light freckles across the bridge of Aurora's nose. Their mouths are just inches away; it could be miles though, for all Celia's concerned. She can't bring herself to bridge the gap between them.

"Celia," Aurora murmurs. It's barely audible, even in the silence of the room.

Celia's heart beats so hard in her chest that she wonders if Aurora can hear it.

Aurora shifts, and for a second, Celia thinks Aurora is going to kiss her.

But then from the living room, Blanca calls for them, and Aurora moves away, clearing her throat.

"We should get back," she says.

Celia presses her lips together, nodding.

She can still feel the phantom press of Aurora's hand against hers as she follows Aurora back to the party.

;;

She's halfway out the door on her way to Adela's house when she spots Aurora. 

Aurora points at the keys in Celia's hand, hovering just above the lock. "Should I go?"

"No!" Celia says quickly, then flushes at her own eagerness. She hasn't seen Aurora since Christmas. "No, it's fine. I was just about to head over to Adela's for New Year's Eve. But it's still early, if you want to come in for a minute."

"I wasn't sure if you were going to be home," Aurora admits. "I'm lucky I caught you."

"Do you want something to eat?" Celia asks, kicking off her shoes and hanging her coat back up on its hook in the hallway. She hovers in the doorway to the kitchen, on her way to the living room. "I brought home some leftover pastries from the café. Or I could make you some coffee. I-if you wanted. I mean, whatever."

She's flustered right now. She hadn't expected Aurora to show up here like this. She'd spent the last few days replaying their moment from Christmas evening over and over again in her head. Wondering what might have happened. Wondering what _could_ happen, now.

"I'm okay," Aurora says, following Celia into the living room. 

She pauses by the kitchen table, loosening the scarf around her neck. Her cheeks and nose still have a pink tinge to them from the cold. Her coat's covered in a fine layer of snow, which is rapidly melting in the heat of the room. 

"You're dripping," Celia blurts out. She points at Aurora's coat.

Aurora looks down. "Oh. Sorry." She shrugs it off, draping it and her scarf over the back of a chair.

Looking back up, she locks eyes with Celia. They stand there, staring at each other. A long, long pause follows. It feels like it stretches out forever. Celia thinks that she might explode if one of them doesn't hurry up and say something. 

"I don't -- " Celia starts to say just as Aurora's saying, "Listen, I -- "

Celia laughs nervously. "You go first."

Aurora clears her throat, stepping in closer to Celia. Her eyes search Celia's face, as if she's trying to decide on something. Finally, she says, "Do you remember at Christmas, when we were talking in your father's study?"

Celia nods slowly. Her heart races. "Of course." It comes out as a little more than a whisper. 

"I really wanted to kiss you," Aurora says.

There it is. Just like that.

Celia can't breathe.

Without her even realizing it, the distance between them has disappeared. 

"I still want to," Aurora murmurs.

Her hand comes up to cup Celia's face, thumb brushing against Celia's cheek. Her touch sends a little spark of electricity racing through Celia. 

Very, very softly, Celia says, "If you want to, you should."

And then, somehow, their mouths come together, Aurora's mouth presses firmly against Celia's own. After a moment, they part, but only for a breath; Celia sighs as Aurora's hands settle on her, gently easing them both onto the couch. Aurora's fingertips skim across Celia's bare shoulders, just above her dress.

Celia can feel herself dissolving into molecules beneath Aurora's touch. Her head spins from the smell of Aurora's perfume, like lilacs in full bloom, heady and sweet, and Aurora's unbearable closeness. 

"Can we do this?" Celia murmurs in wonderment. Aurora's hair is silky between her fingers.

"Yes," Aurora assures her, her mouth against Celia's bare shoulder. 

With her hand on Aurora's chest, Celia thinks can nearly feel her heartbeat, the steady, tight thumping. For a long, long moment, all she can hear is the sound of their breathing, and the tapping of raindrops on the window.

"I don't -- " she starts, but she doesn't know what to say or how to say it. Her fingers curl, knitting themselves into the front of Aurora's shirt, the small, black buttons cool against her skin.

Aurora moves her lips along Celia's collarbone. "It's okay," she says, quietly, kissing the hollow space at the base of Celia's throat. "Tranquila. Está bien."

Her fingers trail up Celia's side, feather light touches that make Celia shiver. Aurora shifts again on the couch and it's so lovely, the way she doesn't even open her eyes once as she lifts her head, leaning in to kiss Celia again. Their mouths move slowly against each other, parting slightly, tongues brushing along bottom lips. Aurora tastes like coffee and Celia remembers standing outside in the cold with her, just before Christmas break.

When they finally pull away from the kiss, Aurora strokes her nose against Celia's, up and down the bridge of it, before resting their foreheads together. She sighs. Her hands find Celia's in the space between them, their fingers intertwining. Celia feels like she's floating; she's a kite without a string. 

It's like a dream.

She's never been happier.

;;

"Are you coming to the café tonight for Francisca's performance?" Celia asks, as they stop at a red light. Aurora's started making a habit of picking Celia up from her afternoon classes. 

"Of course," Aurora says, beaming at her. She leans across the seats to steal a quick kiss. "You've been talking about it for the past two weeks now." She reaches over to take Celia's hand in her own, threading their fingers together.

Celia's still getting used to being able to be affectionate with Aurora whenever she likes. It makes her feel warm all the way down to her toes when Aurora takes her hand in public. Or how she leans over the counter to kiss Celia when Celia's working a shift at the café. Or when their eyes meet from across a room and Aurora gives Celia that sweet, small smile -- the kind that's only meant for her.

"I'm excited, but I'm nervous too," Celia confesses. 

"Because of us?" Aurora asks, glancing over at her. "Don't be."

"Well, it's just that I've never, you know, actually had anyone to introduce them to before," Celia says. "I mean, I know that they've already met you and everything, but that was when you were just a friend. It's different now."

"¿Porque yo soy tu novia?"

"Sí. Do you think that's silly?"

Aurora laughs, shaking her head. "Por supuesto que no. You've never had to introduce a girlfriend to your sisters before. It's a new experience. But," she gives Celia's hand a reassuring squeeze, "I promise you it will be fine."

(She's right, of course.)

;;

They're lying in bed later that evening, still dressed and on top of the covers. The windows of Celia's apartment are flung open, a gentle spring breeze occasionally rustling the curtains. Celia leans against Aurora, tracing little circles on Aurora's forearm. Aurora plays with a strand of Celia's hair, curling it around her finger and then letting it fall loose again.

"You know," Celia says, after some time. "I was just thinking about when I realized I was first falling for you."

Aurora presses a kiss to Celia's head, through her hair. "Oh?"

"Do you remember the first time I visited your apartment? And we just sat and talked?

"I remember. You fell asleep on my shoulder."

"And when I woke up, you were still there." Celia smiles at the memory. "You drove me home and I couldn't stop thinking about how it all just felt so . . . _normal_. Like we were just meant to be doing this kind of thing." She pauses. "And then, well, there was Marina -- "

She and Aurora share a laugh. "I _knew_ you were jealous!" Aurora teases.

"I know, I know," Celia says, leaning up and giving Aurora a quick peck on the cheek, before snuggling in closer. "But that's how I knew for sure. I just couldn't stand to see you two together."

They lapse into silence for a bit.

It's Aurora who speaks next.

"I liked you for so long," she says. "Right from the moment I first saw you, I knew that there was something different about you. And ever since we met, I couldn't get you out of my head. I wanted to tell you, but I wasn't sure if you liked me back. And then we shared that moment at Christmas, and I wanted to kiss you so bad. But I was afraid it might ruin things between us. Because I know how hard things were for you with Petra."

"And that whole time I was worried that _I_ was going to ruin things by liking you," Celia says.

Aurora smiles, gazing at Celia with a soft expression on her face. "I'm glad we're together now, though," she says, in a quiet, serious voice.

She leans in to kiss Celia, cupping her face with her hand. Her thumb stroking across Celia's cheek. Aurora tastes like coffee. Her tongue brushes against Celia's bottom lip. It's so sweet and soft; Celia thinks that she might swoon. She'll never get tired of kissing Aurora.

They stay like that for a bit, just kissing, nice and slow. Eventually, they shift until Celia's on her back, their legs tangling together. Aurora's nimble fingers undo the buttons on Celia's blouse; she pushes the material back off of Celia's shoulders so that she can trail little, light kisses along Celia's collarbone. When she gets to Celia's bra strap, she takes it between her teeth, tugs once gently, playfully. 

Celia makes a sound of contentment, running her fingers through Aurora's hair. She pulls Aurora in for another kiss. It's deeper, this time. Filled with want. They've never gone much farther than this before, but tonight Celia wants more. She doesn't want to stop. 

Aurora seems to sense this. "Are you sure?" she murmurs, against Celia lips.

Celia nods. She's never been more sure in her life.

They shed their clothes, bit by bit, climbing under the sheets. Aurora presses open-mouth kisses everywhere on Celia -- breasts, neck, thighs, stomach -- until Celia is desperate with want. She wraps her arms around Aurora, pulling her in as close as they can get. Aurora's thigh slides between Celia's legs. Her hand lingers on Celia's hip.

"Cariño," she purrs, sweetly. 

Much, much later, Aurora curls up behind Celia with a contented sigh. She drapes her arm around Celia's waist, reaching for her hand. Their fingers interlock. Celia basks in the sleepy afterglow of sex, and the warmth of Aurora's body pressed against hers. She feels like she's floating. 

Aurora snuggles against her, pressing a kiss to Celia's shoulder. "Meine Liebe," she whispers. Her warm breath against Celia's ear sends a little shiver of pleasure up her spine.

"And what does that mean?" Celia asks, stifling a yawn.

Celia can feel Aurora's grin as another kiss is pressed against her shoulder.

"I'll tell you later," Aurora promises.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for heartsways for enthusiastically looking this over. Based on [this](http://maplecroft.tumblr.com/post/149409326961/celia-aurora-modern-day-coffee-shop-au-in-the) post of mine.


End file.
